


Little Traditions

by PajamaSecrets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PajamaSecrets/pseuds/PajamaSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things that make Christmastime special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyoneill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/gifts).



> Written for the prompt, "Cas doesn't understand the celebration of Christmas … and how it all evolved from a religious event. Dean tries to introduce him to all the best but he's never really had great Christmases, so they muddle through and create their own traditions."

Candy Canes

 

Dean rifled through his duffel, searching for a clean shirt. He found a grey henley and shrugged it on over his head, arms stretched high.

 

The motel room had cracked wallpaper and dirty carpeting, but it was made clear from the sickly-sweet air freshener that some effort had been made by the management staff. Dean zippered his bag shut and tossed it in the corner. The  _clunk_ of knives clashing together alerted Dean that he probably should have been more careful. He bent down to open the bag again and inspect the damage.

 

Dean flinched when a lightbulb started to flicker above him. The prickle-sharp sensation of closeness twinged at the back of his neck; he knew the angel was in the room with him without even having to turn around.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean said, looking over his shoulder.

 

“Dean, I am confused. Can you tell me why there are red and white hooks in a bowl at the front desk?”

 

“Hooks?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Castiel reached out; his fist was stuffed full of red-and-white candy canes.

 

“Dude, those are candy canes!” Dean laughed, plucking one out of Castiel's grasp. He tore open the wrapper and popped it in his mouth, curling his tongue around the sweet peppermint.

 

“They are edible?” Castiel tilted his head inquisitively.

 

“Hell yeah,” Dean spoke with his mouth full. He grabbed another candy cane and unwrapped it, presenting it to Cas.

 

“S'good,” Dean promised.

 

Castiel took the cane, raising it to his mouth. His tongue poked out to taste it, and his eyes widened.

 

“It's very sweet,” Castiel noted.

 

“That's the point,” Dean said emphatically.

 

Castiel smiled.

 

Carols

 

Castiel sat in the backseat of the Impala, hands folded in his lap. Dean and Sam were settled in the front seat, fighting over the radio.

 

Sam tapped frantically at the radio buttons until a gaudy tune began to blare from the speakers.

 

“ _JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL ROCK. JINGLE BELL SWING AND JINGLE BELL RING!”_  


 

Sam groaned and moved to change the channel. Dean stopped him.

 

“No way, man,” Dean said. “This is my jam.” He took a deep breath.

 

“ _WHAT A BRIGHT TIME, IT'S THE RIGHT TIME TO ROCK THE NIGHT AWAY!...”_  


 

“Sing along, Sammy!” Dean elbowed his brother. Sam reluctantly joined in.

 

“ _JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL, JINGLE BELL ROCK...”_  


 

Castiel quietly tapped his foot to the beat.

 

 

Scarves

 

They had driven all the way to Rhode Island, where a witch was running around poisoning eggnog.  _(Hey, they need to get into the holiday spirit too,_ Dean had said.) Sam payed for the motel room and conked out on the bed as soon as he lay down. Dean had come outside with Castiel to get a few things out of the trunk of the Impala, which sat outside, its hot exhaust pipe turning the air white around it.

 

“It's ass-freezing,” Dean complained, rubbing his raw hands together. “Let's go, Cas.”

 

As they were headed back to the motel, Dean spied a sign reading “Thrift Shop” across the street. His eyes lit up.

 

“Cas,” he said, “we're going shopping.”

 

After a quick and slightly dangerous jaywalk, they were on the other side of the road. Dean opened the door to the little shop. A bell banged against the door, announcing their entrance.

 

Castiel raised his eyes at the store's inventory. “Clothing?” he questioned.

 

“Yeah, I need some new gloves. And a scarf, even if it makes me look like a douchey hipster. We can't all have angel mojo keepin' us warm.” Dean absently ran his fingers along the racks of jackets and blazers, surveying the store for any sign of a clerk.

 

“Hello?” He asked the empty store.

 

“I'm coming, dear, I'm coming,” came a voice. An elderly woman hobbled out from behind dusty curtains which read “Employees only”, and looked at Dean and Castiel with kind eyes. “How may I help you two gentlemen?”

 

“We're looking for some gloves. And a scarf,” Dean announced, shoving his cold hands in his pockets.

 

“It is getting a bit chilly these days,” the woman remarked, shuffling over to a box in the corner.

 

“I think these will do,” the woman nodded to herself, fishing around in the box and finding a pair of black gloves.

 

“Thank you, ma'am,” Dean said, taking the gloves from her outstretched hand.

 

“Oh, and I've got just the thing,” she continued, moving over to a shelf of folded cloth.

 

She pulled out two scarves, one dark green, another royal blue.

 

“Matches your eyes,” she smiled.

 

Dean chuckled. “You want a scarf, Cas?”

 

Castiel expected himself to say,  _I have no need for one_ , but instead he found himself saying, “Yes. Thank you, Dean.”

 

They paid the store owner and walked back across the street. Dean pulled on his new gloves, reveling in the feel of the soft fabric. Castiel was looking at his scarf, utterly puzzled.

 

“Here,” Dean offered, his laugh low and filled with affection. He pulled off Castiel's tie with a few quick tugs, stuffed it in Castiel's coat pocket, and knotted the scarf around his neck.

 

“Lookin' good,” Dean grinned, giving Castiel's shoulder a pat.

 

In the thrift shop, the old lady chuckled at the sight outside her window.

 

 

Rudolf

 

Castiel sat on the edge of the dingy motel mattress, eyes intent on the television. He was not sure what was playing; it was some kind of animation with woodland animals.

 

The door to the bathroom creaked open. Castiel snapped his head up. Dean was dripping wet, hair heavy with water, sporting a towel that hung low on his hips. Droplets trailed down from his neck to his clavicle, welling up in the little notch between collarbones until they finally spilled over, running down his chest, his stomach, lower.

 

As Castiel observed this, he felt his body warm. The sight of Dean fresh out of the shower was immensely pleasurable. The feeling settled in his groin, and he soon recognized it as sexual desire. Ashamed, he forced himself to look back at the television.

 

“Cas, didn't know you were there,” Dean spoke, voice cracking slightly with embarrassment. He gripped the edge of his towel tighter, making sure it did not fall. That would be a disaster. For both of them.

 

“Um, I'm gonna change,” Dean started, “Don't look.”

 

Castiel nodded, eyes glued to the screen in front of him. He heard the towel fall to the floor, heard Dean opening the zipper to his duffel bag. Castiel swallowed down the ache in his throat, intent on watching the movie.

 

However, the temptation proved to be too much for Castiel, and his eyes trailed over to where Dean was dressing. Dean was pulling on a pair of black boxer-briefs over his bottom. Castiel felt his face flush.

 

Dean tugged on his jeans next. He didn't even bother with a shirt. Castiel swallowed.

 

Flopping on to the bed, Dean gestured towards the TV. “So. Rudolf,” he said.

 

“Yes. I do not understand how this is related to the birth of Christ.”

 

“Don't you know about Santa Claus?”

 

“A legend derived from Saint Nicholas. I am familiar with the 'Santa' story. What baffles me are the caribou.”

 

“Reindeer,” Dean corrected. “It's just a Christmas thing, Cas. Flying reindeer. Fat old men going down chimneys. I dunno. It's just how it is.”

 

“Christ was not even born in December.”

 

“Whatever,” Dean mumbled.

 

“Christmas has been so secularized,” Castiel sighed. “I fear no one sees the true meaning of Christmas.”

 

“Come on,” Dean protested. “For the super-religious types, yeah, they get the Jesus crap. But everyone else... They get it too. Like, friends. Kindness. Love. Isn't that what you guys are all about?”

 

Castiel nodded.

 

Dean smiled at Castiel. Soon, however, his expression scrunched into a yawn.

 

“Man, it's been a long day,” he grumbled, stretching out on the bed, arching his back. His jeans slid lower.

 

Castiel's hand gripped his trenchcoat tightly until his fingers trembled.

 

“Was'matter, Cas?” Dean chuckled, looking up at the angel.

 

“Nothing, Dean,” Castiel replied.

 

“Dude, you're gonna get a bad muscle cramp if you keep that death grip. What's up?” Dean sat up and knocked his shoulder against Castiel's. Castiel shifted awkwardly, face growing hotter.

 

“Oh,” Dean said. “Um.”

 

Castiel heard Dean's breath pick up. Dean was staring straight at Cas, eyes flicking down to his lips.

 

“Cas... You wanna?” He asked quietly.

 

“Please,” Castiel almost whispered.

 

Castiel moved forward to kiss Dean, but ended up bumping their noses together. Dean smiled. “Gotta tilt your head a little, Cas, there you go.”

 

Their lips touched.

***

( _“Oh, God, FINALLY,” Sam rolled his eyes as he entered the motel room.)_  



End file.
